by Kris Tualla
Avery met Jakob’s gaze and waited for him to continue. He would either expound on his cryptic answer, or he would give her his farewell. Her silence would force him to speak next, and her position of superiority would be made clear.
“I go to Spain.”
Avery sucked a breath. She hadn’t expected him to name her home. “For what reason?”
Jakob’s brow flinched and one corner of his mouth twitched. “I did not know I need your… permit.”
Avery’s cheeks flamed. This man needed to be put in his place.
“You do not need my permission, Sir Hansen. But as you know, Catherine is from Spain, and I am as well.” She arched one brow. “I was only expressing polite interest. I truly do not care why you are traveling there. Good day, sir.”
With a haughty twirl of her skirts, Avery gave the Norseman her back and strode with a stiff spine toward the front of the room and the pair of thrones.
*****
Jakob watched Lady Avery march through the room, intrigued by her clear irritation and wondering what prompted it. He was surprised to encounter her as he exited the royal presence, and greeted the lady before considering what else he might have to say to her.
When he restated his comment regarding France and Sweden, he fully expected her to query him about it. With his still-limited English, he hoped to gather the words to explain his meaning to her.
But her abrupt change of subject threw him off-kilter for a moment. And her demand to know his business in Spain was outright rude.
Lady Avery may be close to her queen, but she was not royalty herself. For her to speak to him in such a condescending tone angered him.
“I am close to my king as well,” Jakob muttered as he wound his way through Windsor Castle, returning to his quarters. “And I am highly placed in the København court. I am, in fact, the most trusted knight in Denmark.”
And Norway.
He pushed open the door to his rooms and limped inside. He called his valet’s name, but Askel was not present. Jakob had forgotten to look at the castellated dial clock mounted on the wall of the landing, so he estimated the time of day by looking at the angle of the sun outside his spacious windows.
Five hours past noon. His best guess was that the valet was down in the bottom of the castle, having his supper with the other servants.
Jakob sat on a sturdy curve-backed wooden chair and stretched out his right leg. He massaged his aching thigh and wondered if he would be missed if he did not appear at the royal supper later. His gaze shifted to the cabinet where he knew the opium tablets hid inside their jar. The temptation to indulge in their blessed relief was so strong, he very nearly succumbed in the moment.
And yet, his stubborn pride would not allow him to do so. Lady Avery, as beautiful and elegant as she unarguably was, must not be permitted to have the last word between them. If he did not appear at supper this eventide, she might believe she had succeeded in putting him in whatever place it was that she believed he belonged.
Jakob heaved a sigh. His relief must be postponed. For now, he needed to rest and wait until the bells chimed for the supper hour.
*****
Avery selected her newest and most elegant gown to wear to supper that eventide. The straight neckline of the burgundy brocade bodice pressed the soft swells of her bosom high. Though her age and station demanded she wear a camisole for modesty, its nearly transparent fabric left no doubt about the barely disguised bounty beneath.
Her matching skirt was split down the front and pulled back on the sides, revealing both a rich silver lining, and an elaborately layered underskirt of ruffled silk in the palest shade of lavender. The pleats of her brocade sleeves allowed glimpses of the same silver lining.
To complete her elegant appearance, Avery chose a silver necklace of amethyst and pearls, and then hung matching earrings through the tiny holes in her earlobes. As she surveyed the result in her gilt-framed mirror, she was quite satisfied.
“I’ll show that insolent knight who deserves his respect,” she whispered.
“My lady?” Her servant girl looked at her, wide-eyed with anticipation of her wishes.
Avery smiled. “It’s nothing, Elisa. “I’m only talking to myself.”
“Yes, ma’am. Is there anything else you wish for me to do?”
Avery twisted once more in front of the glass, assuring herself every detail was impeccable. She found no visible flaws. “I believe all is perfect. Thank you.”
Elisa curtsied and exited the chamber.
Avery lifted a black Spanish lace fan from her dressing table, suddenly feeling the unsettling need of a defensive weapon.
When she entered the dining room, her eyes went straight to the knight she meant to impress. Her captive breath of anticipation escaped in a long, slow sigh. Unfortunately, the man was stunning.
Jakob was cleanly shaven tonight. He wore a pleated and tucked skirted tunic of dark blue velvet which matched his eyes and intensified their color. Seed pearls dotted the tucks across his broad chest, and the modest ruff of white lace around his neck accentuated his sun-reddened skin. Matching white lace spilled from the flared cuffs of his sleeves.
The knight wore pale gray hose which tucked into the black boots topping his knees. His style was very unlike Henry’s, whose garments included pleated, mid-thigh pantaloons and short boots. Avery wondered for a moment whether the English king’s modern styles had not yet reached Denmark—or if the Norseman simply did not care.
“Good eventide, Lady Avery.” Catherine’s amused voice and crooked smile indicated she had noticed the object of her friend’s unwavering attention. “Enjoying the scenery, are you?”
Avery turned her back on Jakob’s corner of the room. “The man does not know his place.”
“And you intended to show him tonight with that gown?” Catherine circled Avery, examining the effect of the ensemble. “It is truly beautiful, Avery. Your seamstress has outdone herself.”
Avery dipped a small curtsy. “Thank you, your Grace.”
Catherine gave a little grunt. “Reverting to court manners doesn’t change a thing.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer. “I can see that you are quite fascinated with our mysterious Nordic knight.”
Avery scowled at the queen. “Don’t be ridiculous. I only—”
Catherine straightened and extended her hand past Avery’s right shoulder. “Good eventide, Sir Hansen. I understand you showed yourself quite well at the hunt today.”
Avery spun slowly on one heel to face her nemesis. He did not look at her, but accepted the queen’s hand.
He bowed from the waist. “Thank you, your Grace.”
“How you say that in your language?” Catherine asked him when he stood erect once again.
“Takk du,” he replied with a smile. “You see English is not so hard.”
Catherine beamed up at him. “How very clever.”
Just as Avery wondered if she was going to be completely ignored, Jakob turned toward her. He bowed from the waist again, though not nearly as low as he had for the queen. Because his eyes never left hers, his actions felt like nothing more than a hint of politeness. Even so, she could not make herself look away.
“Good eventide, Lady Avery. You are very beautiful this night.”
Inspiration struck. “Takk du.”
He tried to suppress a grin. “How do you say that in your language?”
“Gracias,” she obliged.
Jakob nodded. “Is like Latin. Gratias.”
“Of course. Spanish is a Romantic language,” she snipped.
His brow lowered, evincing concern. “Was hard for you, to learn English?”
Avery drew a breath to steady her mood, before sending the arrow of her advanced education into the heart of his falsified apprehension. “No, not at all. We had classes in English and French as a matter of course, along with Latin.”
Jakob’s brow smoothed, and the corners of his eyes pinched in amusement. “I have German, Danish,
Norsk, and Latin. English is mix of these.”
He grinned fully then, and shifted his gaze to Catherine. “I only must remember which language is same as correct English word!”
Catherine laughed delightedly. “How very clever once again!” She held out her hand. “Will you please escort me to the table, Sir Hansen?”
Avery clenched her jaw as Jakob offered the queen the back of his hand. Catherine placed her palm atop his hand, and the pair walked off, leaving Avery standing alone.
“Perhaps my queen has mistaken the knight for her own husband.”
Avery turned toward Henry, whose eyes were fixed on Catherine and Jakob’s backs. “Of course not, your Grace. She is only intending to provoke me.”
The king shifted his eyes to hers. “Provoke you?”
“Yes. She believes I should cultivate an interest in the knight.”
Henry’s head tilted slightly. “And?”
Avery lifted her hand and gave the king an adoring smile. “And now I am missing an escort.”
Henry’s demeanor softened. “Allow me, Lady Avery. It would be my pleasure.”
*****
Jakob handed Queen Catherine into her seat, and she smiled up at him. “Thank you, my lord. Will you please sit there, next to Lady Avery? I do wish to converse with you more during supper.”
Jakob dipped his chin in compliance, quite pleased with the request. It saved him from having to finagle a seat by the beautiful Spanish woman on his own. He found that he rather enjoyed sparring with her. She had a quick mind,
Whether she felt the same, or might dump a bowl of hot soup in his lap, could not yet be known.
Henry handed Lady Avery into the chair beside Jakob before taking his own place at the head of the enormous table, next to his wife. Catherine leaned over and spoke into Henry’s ear. His gaze touched both the lady and the knight before he straightened and reached for his goblet.
Jakob wondered what sort of mischief Catherine was up to, but before he had a chance to fully consider the possibility Lady Avery’s voice invaded his thoughts.
“You have a limp.”
He turned to look into her nearly-black eyes, flashing with the verbal challenge. “Yes. At times.”
She reached for her cup. “Were you injured today, during the hunt?” Judging by her expression, she didn’t appear to care if he had been.
“No. Is long time past.” Jakob reached for his own goblet and took a sip of the wine, staring across the room over the goblet’s rim, and hoping to end the subject.
Lady Avery did not notice his reticence. Or—perhaps she did. She had already displayed a bit of contrariness in her character.
“How were you injured?” she pressed.
“I was,” he hesitated, looking for the right words. “Going fast after bad men. Men who attack Christian Second. My horse falls over river edge. I fall, also.”
Avery’s eyes widened for a brief moment before she regained her cool manner. “You were protecting your king?”
Jakob’s gaze dropped to the tabletop before meeting hers again. “Yes. Horse falls on me.”
One pale hand, littered with delicate silver rings, moved to cover her mouth, and remained in place for a long moment.
“Did that break your leg?” she ventured after a pace.
“I think, yes. Here.” Jakob placed his palm on the middle of his right thigh. “I cannot walk for three or four months.”
Lady Avery looked at him more kindly than she had since their first encounter yester eve, when she commiserated with him over the plight of learning a new language in a new land.
“How long ago did that happen?”
Jakob felt the tightness in his chest, as an old yet familiar pain struck him to the core. He drew a deep breath to loosen its bony grip. “Eight years.”
Her eyes softened. “And it still pains you?”
He shrugged. “Only when weather is wet. Or, I ride long and hard.”
“And you rode in the hunt for several hours today.”
He forced what he hoped passed for a rueful smile, and not a pained grimace. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
Jakob looked away from her. The empathy in her eyes was harder for him to accept than the irritating challenges she threw at him earlier. One thing was clear, at the least—it did not appear he would end up with soup in his lap on this night.
Chapter Five
May 18, 1518
Three days passed without Jakob seeing the king or queen again. Or Lady Avery, for that matter. Apparently Mary was feeling poorly, and Catherine never left the little princess’s side. True to form, Lady Avery never left Catherine’s.
Charles Brandon was kind enough to occupy some of his time, but for the most part Jakob spent those days taking Warrior on easy rides through the fields and forests surrounding the castle, and reading books written in English to better learn the language.
“The king is returning to London,” Brandon told him at the midday meal on the fourth day. “We shall go with him.”
“That is good.” Jakob spoke slowly concentrating on each word. “When will we leave Windsor Castle?”
“Very nicely said, Hansen.” Brandon grinned. “Your English is vastly improved.”
Jakob bowed his head. “Thank you, your Grace.”
“To answer your question, we will leave on the morrow. Henry desires to return to the city to see to some personal, as well as state matters.”
“The knight Henry sends—will send—to Spain for the Golden Fleece? Is he chosen?” Jakob was interested in seeing how another knight felt about their mutual task.
Brandon ran a hand through his dark hair. “I believe he is. I shall ask the king.”
“The knight is in London?” Jakob pushed.
The duke’s ice blue eyes cut to Jakob’s. “I expect so. Why do you ask?”
“I only wish to know another knight who goes to Spain.” Jakob shrugged. “This task is—uncommon—yes?”
“When you state it that way, yes it is,” Brandon admitted.
“Did King Henry send this man, three years ago, for the last meeting?”
Brandon shook his head. “No. That meeting was around the time of Mary’s birth. He was otherwise occupied.”
“I understand. I would be the same.” Jakob shrugged. “If I ever marry. But I have no thought to.”
The duke chuckled. “Love them and leave them, eh Hansen? I can imagine that there is a wide path of broken hearts stretching across Denmark.”
Jakob gave Brandon a falsified look of confirmation. “Broken hearts. Is true.”
Brandon clapped Jakob’s shoulder before he pushed back his chair. “Finish up, Hansen. We have time for some shooting practice this afternoon.”
Jakob nodded. “I will meet you in courtyard. In the courtyard.”
May 19, 1518
London
Jakob could smell London on the breeze. The city was crowded, and when people clustered together the resultant aroma was unavoidable. Multiple cooking fires sent scented smoke up multiple chimneys. Waste was tossed out multiple windows and into multiple gutters. Ships sailing in and out of the port carried spices and strangers.
Of course, the not-so-lovely moat around the White Tower added its stench to the mix. Jakob understood why the moat was built half a century ago, but the idea that it could stop any attack now was ludicrous. Cannon fire from the adjoining Thames River would be the obvious, and most effective, mode of assault.
“Why is the moat still around the Tower?” Jakob asked Brandon once London came into view.
“Because it always has been there.” Brandon made a disgusted face. “It does stink to holy hell though, does it not?”
Jakob was given a room in the Tower this time, a fact that made Askel’s chest swell with pride. “You are important to them, now that they know you.”
Jakob wasn’t so certain. “If that is the case, the question would be why am I so important to them?”
Askel paused in his unpacking. “When you gave the gift to the king, what did you say?”
Jakob raked his fingers through his hair. “I said exactly what Christian asked me to say—that I am here to offer friendship and service to King Henry on his behalf.”
Askel snorted and returned to his labors. “I guess we shall see what sort of ‘service’ is required of you.”
Jakob gestured broadly at the chaos in the room. “Go to bed, Askel. We rode thirty miles today. You can straighten this mess up on the morrow.”
“Thank you, sir.” The valet shot Jakob an intense look. “Will you be needing the opium, my lord?”
Would he? That was an excellent question.
Jakob felt old tonight. He also felt tired, but that feeling had nothing to do with the day’s travels. His long journey to an undetermined assignment stretched endlessly in front of him, unknown and undefined. His decision was made.
“Yes, Askel. I believe I will.”
May 20, 1518
The arrival of the morning’s hazy sunrise was a relief. Jakob’s dreams with opium were always vivid, but during the night they turned horrifying. Fire pervaded every scene. No matter how hard he tried, Jakob could neither squelch nor escape it. He never was burnt though, only pursued.
He awoke exhausted.
A breakfast tray was delivered to his room by a uniformed maid. Apparently the only communal meal was supper; the midday meal would be laid out in a side room for the Tower inhabitants and guests to help themselves.
Jakob leaned against the headboard in the—thankfully—large bed and ate his food, watching Askel as the valet resumed the previous night’s task.
“How are you feeling, my lord?” the valet asked, peering in Jakob’s direction. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look a bit worse than yester eve.”
Jakob heaved a heavy sigh. “Bad dreams, Askel. I was fleeing from fire all night.”
Askel turned away and continued his efficient organizing without a word. But then, what could he possibly say? Jakob concentrated on his breakfast.
